Through the Eye of the Tempest
by Magna Relator
Summary: The 41st millennium is a place of countless terrors. From the touch of the ruinous powers to the foul Xenos races and uncaring tides of the Immaterium. This is a place and time where hopes and dreams go to die and the masses are forever resigned to accept that.Look through the eyes of one Tempestus Scion as he deals with the cards the Emperor and the Gods deal to his hand.
1. Chapter 1: Stormclouds Gather

_**+Craftworld Deikar-Belah+**_

 _ **+Western rim of Segmentum Pacificus+**_

 _ **999\. M.41**_

A fog, a thick, stagnant mist the hung in the air. The vapour clung to Farseer Celariel's robes and condensed on the surface of her Wraithbone plate. The immaculate armour bore the bone-white trim and dark blue colours of her Craftworld. Deikar-Belah, a lesser known Eldar Craftworld that skirted on the edges of Imperial space, had always clung onto its existence on an uneven plant. Yet, through perseverance and manipulation, it had been successful since the Fall.

She stood in a darkened expanse, tinged in a mist so thick that one may be forgiven thinking it was smoke. It was only an illusion, of course. A realm of psychic energy projected in which she was spectator to the events to come. The Seer Path had led her here, performing the endless rites of divination that for so long had been the linchpin to her race's continued survival.

"The tides shift once more," The Eldar whispered, her voice reverberating in the psychic domain.

The condensation dripped from her armour and drenched her robes. She couldn't feel it, it was only a vision after all. Her calm was momentarily interrupted by a shrill scream that pierced the blinding mist.

A wave of pink, black, purple and silver broke through the mist. The figures bore the features of the followers of She Who Thirsts. The hated Daemonettes, their maniacal screams, howling bouts laughter and cacophony of girlish giggles. Clad in leather binds as black as their clawed hands, revealing their perverse mockery of the Mon'keigh's female form.

Even the barely passable appearance of the primitive Mon'keigh was preferable to their corrupted counterparts. Many of the warp-spawn may not have even been female to begin with. Withholding her disgust for the moment, the Farseer turned to see what the foul beings were charging towards.

The thick mist began to clear. It was as she feared, on the darkened earth lay the corpses of her Craftworld's defenders, Dire Avengers, Guardians, Dark Reapers… all laid low by the great enemy. Clawed digits now picking and digging out the crimson Spirit Stones that now undoubtedly housed the helpless souls of her compatriots.

Her blood boiled. The sight was terrifying to behold. Still, she fought the rising outrage and terror simmering inside her. Thankfully, the rumble of rolling thunder drew the attention away from the macabre scene. The mist darkened like an ominous, creeping night, there looked to be a rainstorm coming. Arcs of pale light flashed overhead. Through the slowly clearing fog, Celariel could see dark outlines of figures moving toward her.

The hedonistic followers of the Dark Prince were too busy picking at the Spirit Stones to notice, ever seeking to please their god. The thunder kept rumbling, getting ever closer until the the shadow of the dark grey clouds shrouded them in that shadow.

The thunder and lightning suddenly ceased, the Daemonettes paid no heed. For a long minute the only sound was their chattering and giggling amongst each other and the clattering of the Spirit Stones.

Farseer Celariel's psychically attuned mind fought to ignore the psychic screams of terror and anguish emanating from the stones. Her keen senses homing in on the shrouded figures moving in the fog. They were not her brethren, for their movement was lacked the fluidity of Eldar motion. Yet, they were not the Mon'keigh Guard or Astartes for their footsteps were lacked the clumsiness of the common humans and the ground shaking footfalls of Space Marine power armour.

No, these were different. The footsteps were barely audible even to her senses. If the Astartes were the scalpel of the Imperium and the Imperial Guard were the mighty hammer, these were the chisel.

Her thoughts were confirmed when a series high-pitched whines whirred around them herself and the Daemonette party. This time they did snap up to look around them, all too late.

Their giggles were replaced in a chorus of screams when bright yellow lances of heat broke the fog. The volleys of beams tore asunder and completely through the flesh of the warp-spawn like popping water-filled balloons. Not boiling the blood as normal powered lasguns of the Guard, this type of weapon-fire was made to simply penetrate all with hyper-intense heat. In discipline bursts, the yellow lances did their work and robbed the Daemonettes of the Spirit Stone prizes and even the pleasure of pain at the blood-boiling heat of the normal Imperial Lasguns.

It was all over in an instant. All of the Daemons now corpses with smouldering holes burned cleanly through them. The shuffle of careful footsteps finally broke the silence. Stepping through the clearing mist, water dripping from their weapon's cooling shrouds. The Tempestus Scions, elite amongst the regular human forces and arguably the most subtle flexible force they can employ.

These bore armour of dark grey and silver trim. The ever-present skulls adorned their carapace. Right shoulder of their armour painted a dull metallic blue with a skull crossed by lightning bolts painted on them.

"Tempestus, sons of the storm…" Celariel whispered to herself.

They walked past the spectating Farseer. Stepping between or over the littered corpses of their handiwork and that of Chaos. Suddenly they raised their weapons in the same direction and opened fire.

Beams screamed through the mist and struck targets only they could see with their intricate Auspice goggles, They kept firing. Those amongst them that had plasma guns charged and fired their weapons, the ill-understood rifles glowing a fierce neon-blue and discharging their blue tinged projectiles of death.

So intense was their fire that water from the mist gradually seeped from their surroundings by the intense barrage of sheer heat. Only then it has sufficiently cleared for her to see what they were shooting at. Waves of enemies, Tyranid Gaunts, spawns of the Great Devourer. The corrupted of the Ruinous powers, green skinned Orks with their crude weapons and armour. Upon black earth these enemies of both her race the the humans fought one another.

Between them a field of the dead and dying. The forces of order ripped asunder with Astartes and Guardsmen alive scattered throughout the battleground. Heavy artillery from all sides streaking overhead and striking the earth in tremendous explosions.

Something broke through the wicked skies, aircraft from each warring faction breaking away to avoid a massive object that was falling through the clouds. There was no mistaking it, the towering spires, the Wraithbone construction and once shimmering hull.

It was her Craftworld. Deikar-Belah was hurtling to the ground, holes and debris trailing balls of flaming wreckage. Her beloved home smashed right in the middle of the war zone in a thunderous screaming crash. A wave of fire ripping towards her, incinerating all in it's path, humans, Ork and Daemon alike before it ember, dust and smoke consumed her vision.

Soon, the rumble died down, and her vision cleared. The dust was settling over the debris and corpses strewn throughout the battlefield. Crimson blood now mixed with the blackened earth. Turning whatever ground still visible into a dark red stew. A cough broke above the sounds of the still groaning hulk of the shattered Craftworld's hull and skeleton in the distance.

Rising from the rubble, stones rattled to the ground as they slid off his Armaplas carapace armour. A single Scion got up, having escaped the unfortunate fate of his fellows. He looked around of a moment, discarding his heavily damaged Omnishield helmet and shattered rebreather mask as they had been smashed apart by flying rubble.

The Farseer got a good look at his features. He looked young, even for a Mon'keigh. Youthful features strong and masculine. A long scar ran diagonally across his face and over the bridge of his nose, another few streaking over his well squared jawline. Eyes of deep ocean blue scanned his surroundings, the bags that hung under his eyes showed that even one of his few years was not exempt from the rigours and strain of warfare.

The Stormtrooper seemed calm, bending over to pick up the Plasma pistol and chainsword from the dead hands of what was once his squad's Tempestor and ensuring that the coils worked and glowed a healthy blue. A screech broke his calm, soon joined by another then another. He raised the plasma weapon, his chainsword's engine growling softly like a hunched hound.

"Come heretic, show me what passes for fury amongst you," he said, deep voice even and calm. "You are fatallly wrong if you think for even a moment, that I am afraid of you."

The last sight Celariel saw in her divination was the flash of bright blue plasma discharge erupting from the weapon toward a blue bolt bouncing off ceramite plate of cursed power armour that moved and warped with the screaming features of those he has slain. A grinning maw filled of razor teeth parting to reveal a long, flicking tongue. Small black eyes full of mirth of the cruellest fashion and his sight locked on the lone Imperial. His tentacle wrapped right arm whipping the air in anticipation and ecstasy of what was to come.

The roar of engine, the clash of a Daemonic blade against blessed adamantine teeth, a shower of sparks and a spray of blood… then darkness.

"Agh!" The Farseer jerked awake, sitting up upon the bed of crystal.

Her hand shaking as it reached up to her forehead, wiping away a the beads of sweat that had seeped from her skin. She stood up, shaking slightly at first. The revelations of the divination unnerving her to the point of making her stumble for a moment.

All around her, the raw and uncut forests of crystal trees and pillars, light passing through them to form the dome of crystal Seers. Her first time being granted the privilege of performing a divination here. Her talents in the art having been noticed by the council of Seers.

She walked out of the crystal dome, climbing the winding stairway up to one of Deikar-Belah's many tall gleaming spires. Pushing stray locks of obsidian black hair behind her ear. Her eyes, orbs of amber yellow tinged with electric blue. Her smooth skin and even features were attractive, even for Eldar standards. Her calm demeanour betraying her troubled mind.

To think this would be her first divination in a place of such radiance, a prophecy in which Deikar-Belah and possibly every Eldar on it consumed by She-Who-Thirsts. A fate far worse than simple death. For the Eldar, death was simply another beginning as part of the Craftworld's Infinity Circuit. To be consumed by the foul Dark Gods was a torture beyond the imagining of even an Eldar's mind.

Farseer Celariel had reached the top of the spire, onto a balcony overlooking the heart of the Eldar wandering continent. Her beloved home and people, once again at risk of total annihilation. No, she could not let this event come to pass. No longer could they stand aside and manipulate from the sidelines. The key lay with the him, that lone Stormtrooper that stood his ground against the Eternal One.

"Is something amiss Farseer?" one of her warhost's Dire Avengers asked, approaching from behind her.

"Yes, very much so. The tides of fate beckon to us once more. This call…we must answer ourselves," she said.

 _ **+Fallen Imperial Hive- Hive City Primula+**_

 _ **+Hive World- Agantha IV+**_

 _ **+Segmentum Pacificus+**_

 _ **999\. M.41**_

Three days since arriving on this Emperor forsaken world. Posted in an Forward Astra Militarum command base along with a full company from the 58th Deltan Dusk's. The thunderous cracks from Earthshaker Cannons firing in the distance was almost constant save for when they needed to cool the barrels of the massive artillery guns from the constant firing.

While he was on night watch the previous night, he could see their dull red glow in the dead of night at times, appearing like a spreading forest fire until they had cooled down. Then the bombardment began anew with bright flashes of light erupting from the gun barrels and illuminating the night sky.

The siege of Hive city Primula had begun a good Holy Terran year ago. While the intervention was quick enough so that the foul corruption of Chaos had only taken Primula Hive, the Heretics had dug their roots deep, Primula Hive was the largest Manufactorum of various weapons once supplied to the Imperium's faithful.

Agantha IV's environment was largely to thank for the quarantine of Chaos. Massive electromagnetic storms enveloped almost the entire planet in dark grey clouds, arcs of pale blue lightning danced along the clouds, something a stray bolt striking the blackened earth.

The almost entirely sunless world had little in the way of vegetation and the soil was a deep a charcoal black. In addition, the numerous Hive Cities operating throughout the Imperium had poisoned the very clouds that surrounded many of these mega cities, making whatever rain that fell a light acidic green. While not too dangerous to exposed skin, the polluted water was most certainly too deadly to drink.

The Storm trooper sighed, grasping one of the railings along the side of the concrete bunker. Looking up at the skies above. He felt nostalgic, perhaps what some would call 'homesick' the skies of his regiment's homeworld was much the same, though there were forests of alien flora and fauna of various types that glowed brightly from bioluminescence that almost everything on his dark home planet produced. The storms were seasonal, between periods of light were would be constant storms and rain that accompanied them sporadically.

There was another matter troubling his mind. Dreams, dreams he could not explain. Dark dreams of battles that saw his comrades dead around him, trampled by a tide of the Imperium's enemies. Someone at his side, he couldn't remember what she looked like and every time he tried he came up with nothing but a vague female silhouette. That, along the blur of blue and the flash of a white spear.

A gloved hand on his shoulder directed his attention back down. "Something troubles you Comrade Regium?"

Speaking of women, the firm and familiar voice of his commissar brought him back down the present. Commissar Yana, the woman was tall, almost as tall as himself. One might not think a Commissar to be the best company to keep but the woman seemed to be a pleasant. She hailed from Valhalla, where she was attached as a cadet Commissar until her regiment was decimated beyond combat capability.

Her actions earned her a promotion into a full Commissar and she was promptly posted to the 58th Deltans. Her bizarre accent of Low Gothic and the fact that she was a woman in an all-male Company was largely ignored by the Deltans. Largely due to the threat of the power fist that she always wore on her right arm. No Scion wanted to end up dead outside of a battlefield and fighting in service to the Imperium, much less as a pulverized pile of bloody meat. The plasma pistol holstered at her side was of no small threat either.

The tall red cap of the Commissariat covered much of the front and sides of her head. Hidden under it was a skull-helm of Armaplas, it was treated well in protecting her against the acidic rain of this planet. Her face was youthful and pale, a hint of a rose pink on her cheeks. Her eyes were icy blue, easy to see despite the shadow her hat cast over her brow and eyes. Wearing the standard black commissar's long-coat. A form fitting layer of Armaplas plate could clearly be seen on her torso.

"Tell me," She ordered, her strict expression was fixed on her face, almost never changing.

He couldn't blame her, nor was he in a place to judge. He was often called an automaton by the more outspoken of the Imperial Guard. Even with his helmet off his expression remained deadpan and muted, those Guard officers found the inner workings of his mind and even his mood all but impossible to read. Commissar Yana could read them, such was the duty to uphold discipline and morale. Though she had not learned to read him completely, not yet at least.

"Nothing troubles my mind Commissar, merely apprehension for the battle ahead, we have much to do," Regium said.

It was no lie, for to lie to a Commissar was a grave act of insubordination. Merely a half-truth, what was of immediate concern anyway.

The woman nodded, her power fist-clad hand gesturing to the towering silhouette of Primula Hive with a hiss of servos. "Da, we have given the Heretics for too much time to prepare. The Krieg have encountered much difficulty over the past year, the artillery has only just managed to blast a path through the massive minefield they have placed."

The Scion sighed, already well aware of the layers upon layers of defences that awaited them. "We are to attack soon I hope... I tire of this, my Plasma gun is best used to wreath the enemies of the Imperium in blue fury, Not idle here as a weight. I need not be a follower of the Cult Mechanicus to feel the lamentation of it's machine spirit," he said, slinging the weapon onto his shoulder with its strap.

The woman huffed in amusement. "It is good that you are eager comrade but do not forget, this respite is a blessing from our Emperor and we must use it wisely."

"Yes, Commissar," Regium nodded, feeling a gentle shove from the Valhallan.

She smiled, a wide smile that few save him have seen. She had been serving with the Tempestus for nearly five years. Regium had come two years ago fresh from the Scholar Progenium as a replacement for combat losses. She found him a man of few words yet bearing thoughts of a thousand. Never questioning orders yet going about them in ways that would baffle even her.

Of course the fact that he was brave and daring to the point of near reckless insanity was another factor. As for his knack for surviving the impossible.

Attea had lost track of how many times Tempestus Regium had cheated death. An Ork Zzap gun striking him in the chest with little more than a scorch, though the electricity left his delirious, mumbling something about "Failing a roll to wound."

Or the time he climbed onto the back of a moving Tau battlesuit and simply pressed his Plasma rifle into the flailing warmachine until he practically burned through both his weapon and the alien armour. The Enginseer was less than pleased with him afterwards.

A chuckle escaped her as she stood beside him, staring out at was was soon to be their battlefield. "Tell me Regium, you remember the time of our first meeting? Nyet?"

Regium regarded the Lady Commissar with a puzzled expression before given her an answer. "Yes, as if it were this morning."

* * *

 _ **+Imperial world NociIlium+**_

 _ **+Scholar Progenium Tempestus Scion training and mustering base+**_

 _ **+M.41 997+**_

The whole of the 58th Deltan Dusk's stood at attention. Gathered into rectangular formations of ten men lined into ranks of five and three shoulder to shoulder. Each squad represented by a Tempestor standing at the front of the formation. The camp served as one of the many barracks for Deltans, each company having one with tunnels leading up to the main regimental Scholar Progenium Stronghold.

Just outside the reinforced walls, fortified bunkers and the watchful eye of automated defence turrets perched upon overlooking watch towers was the jungle that spanned most of the planet. Nocillium was one of those planets that was just as dangerous of the infamous Death World of Catachan, if not more so. There were only two seasons on this planet, the seasons of Storm and Light.

The season of the Storm encompassed most of year, a time in which the skies over almost the entire planet was shrouded in wrathful electromagnetic storms dark grey clouds whilst lightning streaked through the skies and constant hammering of thunder like the forging tool of the long-dismissed god of smith of Terran antiquity striking his anvil.

It is only on table mountains that a few Imperial cities exist, above the hostile flora and fauna that surrounds these sanctuaries. Lacking both in the sheer scale and manufacturing capabilities of Hive cities. The planet's population pays it's tithe in the specialized fruit that grows only on Nocillium and hard fighting sons and daughters to Imperial service, none of which return or survive. Though even in death, these loyal servants of the Emperor still contribute. Though their own children will be without their guiding hand, they have the Scholar Progenium to show them the Emperor's light.

* * *

Fatigues were clean and pressed, Carapace armour polished, cleaned and repaired and weapons maintained at peak condition. While that was the norm for the Scions. Today was a special occasion. No patrols were being carried out, no routine runs around and over the nearby mountains and no weapons and combat training.

Today the 58th Deltan 7th Company were to receive a new officer of sorts: a Commissar. Their return to their homeworld was following an action against the hated heretics had seen fifty of their original two hundred in the company killed, including their assigned Commissar.

This replacement came late, they expected her some days ago along with their new recruits. Of which almost a fourth of the company was now composed.

At the head of the company was the command squad, a Company Standard Bearer, a Medicae, a Vox-caster and the Tempestor Prime, the leader of the company and most senior surviving member.

All stood motionless, disciplined and loyal to a fault. They remained so as the distant roar of a Valkyrie's engine was heard, the dark grey hull of the aircraft racing into view over the dense jungle of NociIlium, disturbing the bioluminescent leaves of the local flora.

 **"** **STAND AT ATTENTION MEN!"** The Tempestor Prime the order was met with immediate compliance as a drone of boots hitting the pavement of the camp echoed across the camp.

* * *

The rumble of the Valkyrie's engine was a comforting sound to lone woman that occupied the aircraft's troop compartment, if one discounted the loader servitor that was assigned to assist her. The being was thankfully silent, unlike the constant Techna Lingua chatter of the ones that surrounded the Techpriest that had first assigned it to her.

The thing bore a human torso, other than that little remained of the glorious form of humanity. Its arms were replaced with two steel bar-like protrusions that formed a pincer for each arm. In those pincers was a sealed rectangular crate stamped with a large Aquila containing some of her implements of warfare and what few personal belongings she had.

Deceptively thin fingers gloved in black leather brushed a stray lock of straight silver-white hair behind her ear, fair, almost porcelain-like skin with matching eyes of icy blue. Wrapped around her right arm was a bower fist, attached to a servo-assisted frame with power cables running to a power pack under the back of her coat.

She raised the weaponised gauntlet, the bulky construct deactivated save for the motion-assist systems. Not long ago this had been stained with blood, of both Imperial and Xenos. It was necessary, she always told herself that. Throughout that bloody campaign, it was necessary to kill those under her command should they be found wanting. Leading by example was what Commissars were Maddox to do. She was Valhallan through and through, retreat and surrender never an option to her. To those few that had that pride and will broken were to serve as examples for the others.

"Commissar Yana, we are arriving soon," The pilot of the Valkyrie announced.

* * *

The wash of wind from the dropship's descent whipped the Tempestor Prime's Commissariat coat around, only the chain worn around his gorget affixing the two collars together holding the garment in place. Still, not one inch was shifted, no sign of discomfort or disapproval, not even a shifted head to angle away from the rotorwash of the vertical landing engines.

The heavy clank of the landing ramp's locks disengaging was just barely audible over the rapidly dying scream of the aircraft's engine. Only when silence finally settled one again did anyone hear the slowly clanking footsteps of steel studded boots upon steel plating.

If any were shocked to see the feminine frame, none showed it. They stayed fixed forwards, being well built and upstanding examples of the human physique the Scions were of average to above average in height and all muscular in built under their armour. Most women of the Imperium would be dwarfed by them. This was not one of them.

Commissar Yana strode down the paved path, powerfist closed in a fist sparking with crackling energy. The sun was still in the late stages of dawning and the Respmask array affixed to Omnishield helms betrayed no emotions. She had heard the Ordo Tempestus were monotonous and were often considered as "Toy soldiers" or automations by the Guardsmen under her guidance. This appearance did give some credence to that stereotype.

She paused before a man bearing a plasma rifle, obviously he must have some affinity for the weapon if the Techpriests entrust him with a weapon with such a tempermental machine spirit.

"You Scion, your name?" she addressed him.

The man in question answered, his voice was deep and somehow barely above a whisper in tone but still clearly heard.

"Regium, Lady Commissar."

Yana nodded, Regium, one of the many names given to young recruits no doubt, though she had never heard this one before. In High-Gothic it had no literal meaning it was a broad to description of an action "to protect".

"I wish to see your features," Yana said.

For a moment the Scion seemed perplexed at the order, but he complied nonetheless. Removing the airtight seals with a soft hiss and squeak. The Commissar was somewhat shocked at his youth, he was younger than his deep voice suggested. Still the expression on his visage was that of calm, not the fear she inspired in others. She fixed her eyes on his dark blue orbs searching for any hint of fear or a façade that disguised it. She found none.

The Valhallan had expected at least a modicum of fear, she had learned to read humans, as this was her duty as an upholder of discipline. Commissar's were a symbol of fear and discipline. Was this fearlessness a trait common to all Tempestus Scions? Or was Regium the exception?

Slowly she raised a power fist, bulky fingers parting to cup the back of the young man's head. The force field was off, she didn't want to pulp him for no reason, this was merely a test. Again, no reaction to the thread of having his brain matter clattered over her weapon. His dark blue eyes stayed fixed on her, not a single doubt in his eyes.

"Are you not afraid?" she questioned.

The Storm Trooper seemed to chew over the question. "I have nothing to fear from a Commissar, we are both of the Scholar Progenium and our duties are to the Imperium. I understand clearly our roles to play. I trust in your judgement. Should I prove lacking, it is to my shame and fault that my death comes from you instead of facing a foe of the Imperium."

Commissar blinked, eyes widened in shock for a moment. Then, she smiled and released a huff of laughter, lowering her powerfist. This one was special, though she did not even ask for any form of admiration, she did not expect outright trust from him. He was special, this one.

She paced the the formation, holding each squad for a moment in her scrutiny. She found no flaws, not a single stance incorrect nor a weapon in ill repair. Satisfied, she returned to the middle of the row and regarded her new charges.

"Men of the 58th Deltan Dusk's, I am Commissar Yana. Some of you will come to resent me, some may not, hopefully.… I do not ask for your compassion or admiration for that belongs only to our Emperor. I only demand your fight and die in his service without question nor hesitation, as per our tradition. Let my presence reminds you what fate awaits those who fail. Ave Emperor!"

The troopers voxed their reply through the vox-speakers on their Respmask's no more emotion in their reply save only what was expected of them, "Ave Emperor!"

* * *

" _Da_ , good times indeed," Yana sighed, recalling fond memories.

She pushed off the railing, flashing Regium a small smile. She had attached herself to his squad since then, finding him more perplexing the more she learned of the odd Storm Trooper.

"Though you did not wish it, rest well Regium. For this respite is a gift from the Emperor, we do not squander his blessing."

He nodded, looking back to her.

"To you as well, rest well. Goodnight, Ilyana." Regium said, he seldom addressed her by her full first name. It was something they did only in private company.

" _Dobroy nochi_ , Regium," she called back, descending the stairway and back to her tent.

He turned back the the distant flashes of light. Heart still eager for combat yet fearful of what the battlefield held for him. Fear to be conquered in short order.

* * *

 _ **+Outskirts of Hive-Primula+**_

 _ **+M.41 999+**_

Subtlety was barely a footnote on the Imperial Guard's list of doctrines, for usually they did not need it. While some regiments were different from the others, the overall modus operandi of the hammer of the Emperor was not accommodating to anything less than bringing the full fight to the enemy or vice versa, meeting the enemy attack with everything they had got. Such as in this case, a five-vehicle formation of Macharius heavy tanks rumbled ahead of their tiny Taurox Prime. The dawn was just breaking and already there was a massive push from all four points of the compass. Trenches that ringed the corrupted Hive city were abuzz with movement as some of the Kriegers rose up and staked the blasted and uneven ground on foot or travelled in whatever transport they were assigned to,

Blessed machines of war lead the charge, blocks of mobile cover for the advancing Astra Militarum and mobile fortresses of death and fire for the Heretics. The 58th Deltans were spread out amongst twelve of their preferred armoured personnel carriers-three per-front, the Taurox Prime. Tall machines made to cross even to most difficult terrain that nothing but a walker or hover vehicle could hope to traverse.

The firing began almost immediately, the twin-linked battle cannons of the Macharius's blasted away at range as the traitor defences spat out their own response. From within the troop compartment Regium and the rest of the Tempestus waited. He could not see fighting strapped down to his seat as he was, however, the jarring blast of artillery that rocked the very earth and the light from explosions that lit the view-slits made it obvious. He did hear some screams of pain, when muffled by the Krieg rebreather he could hear little else.

He admired the Krieg, though their fatalism was worrisome at times. It was one thing to seek forgiveness, it was another to die in vain by the millions when another approach could be used to obtain victory. Though he had no right to judge, only the Emperor knew what was best. If he so choose to grant Kriegers forgiveness in death, so be it.

"Make ready Deltans!" Commissar Yana yelled, her voice clear even through the din of combat thanks to his Omnishield helm's vox-system.

All of the Scions took that as their cue, checking on their Hotshot weapon's cables and optics, ensuring their grenades were fastened well to their bandoleers and belts. Regium checked his Plasma rifle, ensuring that the weapon's machine spirit was appeased with a brief litany of Firing and Cooling under his breath before bringing the weapon up to his lowered head, tapping it against his helm's cowl.

Some found it strange, though for the Deltans, affection for one's weapon was commonplace and encouraged. It didn't hurt that the Engineers of the Adeptus Mechanicus appreciated the reverence for the Machine Spirit within that they showed.

"Let us reintroduce the vile traitors the light of the Emperor! One way or another!" another Scion called. It was Sigum, twisting the valve of his flamer.

Regium only nodded, at times Sigum could get a little…over enthusiastic when it came to burning the enemies of the Imperium.

The Commissar ignored him, instead issuing her orders, "Stand ready at the rear hatch!"

The men stood, a sudden artillery shell that exploded next to the Tauros Prime almost knocking some of the off their feet as the vehicle lurched to one side and slammed back down. They quickly regained their composure, luckily all had fallen into their seats.

The Taurox's engine roared as the driver sped between two of the Macharius's that had been their mobile cover, that could only mean they were getting close to their deployment point. The Scions kept their hands firmly gripped on the handholds above them. The Mortar fire was now rocking the Taurox and sharp shrapnel could be heard bouncing off the hull. These were small, anti-personnel fragmentation and air-burst mortars. The distinct sound of their explosions reminding him much of the recordings and live-fire training exercises he had studied in the Scholar Progenium.

Stormbolter fired from atop the Taurox's hatch, as did the hull mounted autocannons and even the missile launcher. If their vehicle was firing all those weapons at once, that could only mean the enemy was all around them or their were suppressing the enemy ahead.

"Now! For the Emperor!" Yana screamed over the now overwhelming din of combat. The rear hatch split open, Regium's squad of Stormtroopers piling out of their mount.

* * *

His boots hit the ground, not really earth after being pounded mercilessly for months on end by both sides. Acidic rain had turned the ground to a thick sludge that almost resembled engine oil, except that it bore the stench of blood, decay and explosive residue. His boots sank up almost up to ankle in mud that threatened to bog him down and suck him into the cursed battlefield.

Looking around, he could see the other two Taurox had manage to disembark their occupants of ten men squads. All around the battle raged, like a great tide it devoured all. Men fell around him, some advancing so slowly that traitor autoguns and laser fire made short work of them. Lighter Chimera transports and even mighty Leman Russ tanks stood as smouldering husks and others still and burning towers of flame where their ammunitions were igniting.

Heavy bolter and laser fire impacted the ground around them, kicking up dirt and mud as they ricocheted off.

Always ready to push forwards, Commissar Attea called out once more. "Let them taste our hate and fury! FORWARD!"

The order brought about immediate action from the nine Scions. Four, led by Sigum, shouldered over the left side of the Taurox two stayed back one crouching and the other leaning upon the Taurox Prime as a brace to lay down fire, their hotshot lasrifles ringing out in sharp pings as they opened fire. Sigum along with two other Scions advanced, his flamer spitting out a short burst of flaming Promethium.

Next was Regium's side, Commissar Yana strode forwards, using her armoured powerfist as an ad-hoc shield. Regium took up a position right beside her, bringing his plasma rifle up to his shoulder. Finally, he got a good look at what was to be his target.

Just a few metres ahead was their target. A network of trenches connected to a line of pillboxes, all connecting a few that led up to the Heretic command centre. The structures, branded will all manner of iconography in reverence to their dark gods. From skulls to the helms of the faithful that stood up to them. Even the impaled bodies of entire families of those that refused to submit mounted along the eight pointed star of Chaos.

"This is just sickening," Regium mumbled, levelling his weapon toward a line of maddened Cultists that ran along the trench. "They will pay dearly for this."

Kickback from the "sun-gun"'s magnetic coil was more severe that of almost any laser-based weapon. Still, at that range combined with his training and mastery of the rifle, Regium need not worry about missing, seeing as the scum had formed a line for him.

They bore the arms and armour of the PDF, perhaps they were once the PDF. Now their flak armour and lasrifle bore the wicked disfigurement of all that was Chaos, painted red, black, blue or green depending on their favoured god.

Coil's of Regium's weapon glowed a roaring blue as it charged with a high pitched squeal. A burst of fast moving plasma trailed with blue mist smashed into the traitor ranks. The first heretic fell backwards, his chest a now a molten mass of flesh and what was one armour. The second stumbled back when his comrade's body fell onto him, another plasma bolt striking his temple and searing his unprotected head, melting it inwards. The third was struck in the gut, his organs liquefied by the intense heat. His melted innards oozed out of the entrance hole of the plasma bolt like a thick soup, his horrified and agony-stricken expression lost of the Scion, he had an advance to back.

The Commissar glanced at Regium's handiwork before walking forwards once more. A flash from the pillbox at her flank caught her attention. She angled the armoured back of the powerfist and felt a solid tap as a las-bolt impacted upon the armoured surface.

"Sigum!" She yelled.

The Scion needed no further instruction, turning his flamer toward the pillbox and unleashing a tongue of burning Promethium fuel. It poured into the pillbox's compartment, screams of pain emanating within as the Cultists were burned alive.

Regium slung the heavy plasma weapon under his arm again, sprinting forwards and jumping into the trench. Thankfully the mud had remained somewhat dry in and around the traitor trench, giving him a firm footing as he landed.

He hit the wooden frame of the trench wall with a heavy thud, using his Carapace armour's pauldron to take most of the blow as he shouldered his plasma weapon once again.

Behind him, Commissar's Yana's boots hit the ground. How she managed to keep her balance despite the massive powerfist on her arm, he would never understand. She was followed soon after by the rest of his squad. Sigum cradling his flamer and their Tempestor some distance behind, his chainsword growling in satisfaction and dripping with gore.

The trench was wide enough to fit two men shoulder to shoulder, hardly enough room to manoeuvre but enough to swing a melee weapon. Thus, the Tempestor walked forwards to take his place ahead of Regium. Why Tempestor's chose to wear their parade beret's in place of their Omnishield helms, Regium had no , it was not in his place to question his squad leader.

"Advance to target!" Commissar Yana took her place beside Regium while the others formed ranks of similarly formed ranks of two behind them with Sigum at the rear, ready to douse any flanking heretics with burning Promethium and cover their path should it prove necessary.

Glancing at his gauntlet, the embedded Slate Monitron showing his location as a dot upon a map. Of which marked the trench network was supposed to lead toward the heretical command station that held the master vox-network for all the western defenders of Hive Primula, along with much of their command staff. Their orders were to deliver judgement upon the Heretics and destroy their command and communications

.

"Forward ten paces, then left, the Heretical command station should be two kilometres from there. Expect the enemy to be upon us," Regium said, lowering his hand back to grip the plasma rifle's hand-guard.

The other scions checked their weapons and nodded, ensuring their blessed wargear was ready and able to meet the enemy once more.

* * *

Something was wrong, very wrong. It was as if the battle that raged all around them mere moments ago had simply forgotten their presence. The Scions were bereft of the combat they expected, walking along the trench toward their target over a field strewn with bodies. The stench of which forced Commissar Yana to put on her own Respmask array to keep the foul smell of decay and rot at bay.

Reminders in the form of desecrated bodies or blasphemous vandalizations of what once were the consecrations on Imperial crates to the God-Emperor reminded them of their mission and steeled their resolve. Their target was looming into view now, a command bunker of reinforced rockcrete, typical of Imperial Guard design now poles and marks of the Eight pointed star of Chaos.

Artillery still blasted away and faints sounds of gunfire rattled off in the distance, other than that there was complete silence. None of the Scions uttered a word despite all no doubt having reservations about the situation. It was not in their place to question orders, only to follow them, if a trap was a waiting them they would have to adapt.

Regium once more glanced at his Slate Monitron, trusting in his fellow Scions to cover him in the meantime. The device was clear of any movement on it's Auger for a long five seconds as he stared at it. Then, a single red dot appeared on the glass surface for only a moment before disappearing.

The signal brought him to a pause, the rest of the Tempestus following suit and raising their weapons at the ready.

"Regium, report," Yana ordered, her plasma pistol now raised toward the command bunker ahead.

"A signal, it appeared only for a moment-" the Scion paused, the signal, it was back and now joined by another.

He raised an eyebrow, if they were the enemy, they didn't seem to interested in coming closer. The Monitorn's machine spirit indicated that they were milling about outside the trench network.

Regium gestured to the left, two of his squadmates nodding and shouldering their Hotshot Lasguns, peering over the lip of the trench. They scanned the direction for a moment both climbing down and staring at him.

"There is nothing there," a static tinged voice told him.

Regium blinked, quickly glancing again at his device. The red dots were even more numerous now the dots forming a cluster at the point near the first one that appeared and spreading throughout the screen.

"Impossible," Regium said, stepping onto the soaked, half rotten wood that framed the trench to peer out the side.

At first he saw nothing, such like his squadmates had told him. He took a hesitant look at his Auger again, same display, the enemy supposedly surrounded them from all angles. Had Enginseer at the depot not service his equipment properly?

He began to doubt his tool when he saw movement, a twitch from the black earth. Immediately his weapon went to his shoulder and the dull copper coloured coils of Regium's Plasma rifle glowed to a soft blue.

Another brief pause and a figure rose from the ground. It appeared to be guardsman in standard issue carapace armour, albeit slightly damaged. He was wounded, a gaping wound on his lower abdomen.

Regium considered calling out to him before he another figure rose, this one a Culstis of Chaos with a crude gas mask in the form of a rag with tubes and goggles attached. This once was also wounded, his arm blown off at the shoulder. He expected the Guardsman to charge the Cultist or run. Instead, the two simply stood there, swaying like trees in an absent wind.

Puzzled by this at first, the Stormtrooper charged his weapon once more and prepared to lob a blob of white-hot plasma and reduce the traitors into chunks of charred flesh. That was before Commissar Yana gasped.

"Throne of the God-Emperor…"

Regium tore his eyes away from the his two targets to see what she had the Commissar shocked. It was not pleasant. All around them, the 'corpses' that once lay in the mud and blood twitched, writhed and scrambled up, some missing the limbs necessary to do so and simply dragged themselves halfway upright.

There was not groups, nor tens, they were hundreds of the living dead, those now infected with the plague of unbelief. They had been tricked into believing these corpses to be combatants killed, going so far as to replicate the wounds on the corpses to fool the scrutinizing gaze of the Tempestus Scions. All to draw them into a trap.

The walking corpses turned slowly, having gained directions and purpose from some unseen sorcerer. They shambled towards the Commissar and nine Scions. The perfection that was once the human form now perverted by the machinations of the warp ridden virus into little more than automatons of decaying flesh.

They shambled and dragged themselves forwards, swaying forms of the undead, some gaunt and emancipated, others burgeoning masses of corpse gas, ballooning so full that a stream of green smoke constantly spewed from their gaping mouths and absent eyes.

Liquefied organs slathered out from orifices of open sores and wounds as the undead advanced, the thrice cursed mark of Nurgle, the Lord of Decay, glowing bright green on their bodies.

Regium's eyes widened behind his Respmask array before he brought his weapon to bear once more. Charging the magnetic coils to full and awaiting orders from Yana that were sure to come.

 **"OPEN FIRE!"**

"Finally…" Regium whispered, a superheated glob of semi-liquid accelerated by the weapon's magnetic coils and into the mass of undead surging towards them.


	2. Chapter 2

AN- Redux Chapter II, enjoy. This chapter is going to get suggestive and heretical. Report to your local Commissar immediately if you feel swayed for his or her valuable advice.

* * *

Chapter II: Efficiency, Excellence, Tempestus Scions

* * *

 _"Death itself isn't a failure, for glory can be found in death. Nor is fear a failure, for fear can be conquered. The only failure for a Tempestus Scion was to ignore orders, for even a moment's hesitation in following an order leads to an ignoble end_ **." _-Liber Progenium, Volume I_**

Ryza Pattern Hot-shot lasguns rang out in a symphony of searing death like the instruments of a macabre orchestra. Each piece of blessed wargear doling out it's rhythm of fire in the expert handling of the Scions that held them. Aiming was hardly an issue, the undead shambled towards them as a putrid tide of decay, anywhere they fired would hit a foe.

Still, efficiency was the core of every Scion's training. They recited no fanciful litanies nor shouted any battle cries most of the time, only the precise discharge of their weapons towards the cranium of the plague zombies.

The Scions lined up at the sides of the trenched weapons braced. Commissar Yana stood beside him, taking shots with her plasma pistol. Holding was all they were told to do for the moment, no orders came from the Commissar, and, as such, they would stand their ground until she said otherwise...

"Over the top!" ...Apparently, that time was now.

Flanked by his fellow Scions, Regium hauled his weight over the edge of the trench. Elevating the weapon, he unleashed a charged shot from his plasma rifle. A blue ball of superheated semi-liquid arching through the air and landing amongst a group of Zombies, incinerating five of them in a blinding blast of energy.

Glancing at the red temperature gauge of his weapon, nearly halfway heat in that one charged shot. He whispered a word of apology to his faithful weapon's machine spirit for his continued harsh use of it as he fired a long burst of plasma bolts towards the oncoming horde, each shot hitting home on one undead or another. Yet, the plague zombies that were not struck in the head shambled on regardless of the plasma melting their bodies.

He spared no time admonishing himself. Correcting his aim and firing again, controlling his fire to short bursts of three or five shots to ensure he struck the head and upper body. Doing this for the next few minutes, his volleys of fire accompanied by those of his compatriots. Yet, for every plague zombie downed, it seemed three took its place, rising from the black sludge of the ground.

Regium reached forwards and twisted the now empty canister of Hydrogen fuel. A string of litanies he had performed countless times before streamed from his helmet's Vox. Even the smallest amount of unused fuel could have catastrophic consequences.

Thankfully, the Nocillium Pattern Plasma gun specifically issued to the Deltan Dusk Scions had a venting system under the barrel shroud. Cooling vents were connected to the chamber, syphoning off whatever spillage from the canister and dispersing it as gaseous mist around the barrel.

Still, reloading another canister was something Regium did with utmost care. Proper litanies of reloading and redemption were a must, care for the machine spirit a constant concern.

* * *

Retreat was not an option, nor will it even be considered. There was only one option, forwards. Sigum along with their Tempestor, Aelus, and Commissar Yana, took the lead of their advance. Regium followed closely behind, the rest of the squad covering his flanks.

Sigum fired his flamer once more, dragging the nozzle from side to side to clear burn a cone ahead of them. To his right flank, Commissar Yana turned the Nurgle zombies into airborne masses of pulverized flesh courtesy of her power fist. To the left, Tempestor Aelus advanced, his roaring chainsword carving a putrid mess of anything that dared try to hamper the flamer-scion's work.

Now came the hard part. Forming a rough circular formation, the squad held their ground as the zombies set alight in the field of burning Promethium succumbed and were delivered to the Emperor. It was too dangerous to cross the cone of fire for now, the Tempestus now had to hold their ground for a few precious minutes.

Minutes that could be fatal.

Regium had just fired another charged shot of plasma, annihilating a tightly packed group of zombies when he heard of one of his squad mates through his helmet's vox.

"They're rushing my position!"

Turning his gaze to the source, he spotted one of his squad mates that had called out. He had been rushed by a group of them too large for even a hotshot lasguns rapid fire to thin out. Evidently, the Scion in question wasn't watching his head gauge. A hiss escaped his weapon when its machine spirit could no longer take the strain, venting heat through the barrel's cooling shroud.

Keeping calm despite his circumstances, the Scion jumped back. Retreating just far enough to pull a cylindrical mass from his waist bandolier, a Frag grenade.

"You can have this, Chaos pawns."

One of the reaching hands grabbed the object. It seemed as if the former guardsman had some sort of recollection of life as to what he was holding. His clouded, rotting eyes widened for the split second.

"UUuhhh…?"

A bright flash of flame followed by a storm of hot shrapnel tore through the group. It was a grenade well used, as a group of ten was instantly shredded. Shouldering his lasgun once more, the Scion resumed his position.

Regium pulled reached behind him to pull out his chainblade. The diminutive version of the Imperium's iconic chainsword roared as its wielder drove it through a zombie that had gotten too close. The formation was slowly getting smaller as the noose closed around them.

"Now! Through the gap!"

The Commissar's yell came not a moment too soon. The Scions pushed through the still burning ground, counting on their blessed equipment and the Emperor's divine protection to safeguard them.

Their advance was rapid, Yana's power fist batting away what few zombies escaped the murderous volley of hip-fired lasbolts. The Scions concentrated their fire forwards, cutting a path through the undead horde. Though they were much thinned when they had tried to flank and surround them, the Nurgle spawns still numbered in the hundreds.

"Our speed is key, permission for unorthodox stratagem commissar!" Regium voxed.

"Speak quickly!" She responded.

Regium paused and fired a long burst on the flank, stopping two zombies from cutting off their run.

"We will have but moments to destroy the target! I request the use of the flamer's remaining fuel to leave a field of flame to cover our path, it will buy us time!"

Her response was immediate.

"Sanctioned!"

Sigum needed no instruction. Slowing his sprint to take his place at the rear of the advance, he unleashed his flamer's fury. A spray of burning fuel ignited the slow but relentless horde's advance. Those not caught in the initial spray were quickly ignited as their exposed and rotting flesh lit up upon contact with the burning ocean of Promethium.

Still, their target was now in sight.

The command bunker housed the supplies, ammunition, the master vox and critical personnel of that entire side of the front. That meant that they were to face their foul sorcerers and their loathsome ilk. For these heretics there would be no peaceful deliverance. They have sullied the bodies and very souls of those once loyal to the God-Emperor, a sin for which there is no redemption.

Evidently the traitors hadn't expected them. The compound, though surrounded by sandbags, a trench network and heavy stubber emplacements at each corner. The troops to man them were absent, milling about and fulfilling their own worthless desires. The Slaaneshi worshippers dosed on chems, drank or otherwise sought their own pleasures. The Nurglites tested the "gifts" their patron had granted them. Whilst the worshippers of Khorne and Tzeench simply bickered, tried to kill each other or stop each other from killing the other.

The thing they all shared in common was the shock when a squad of Scions and an Imperial Commissar dashed over their trench.

"Die, heretics!"

Regium let loose a volley of plasma from his rifle, reducing two of their number to smoking corpses. The rest made a dash for their arms, those that had weapons fired back wildly. Only to torn asunder by Imperial Lasbolts and plasma. Soon it was over and all of the cultists had been dealt with without loss.

"Seek and destroy pattern sanctioned! Stay vigilant, some may still be present and their abhorrent sorcerers are unaccounted for!"

Commissar Yana's command was met with a chorus of positive "Yes commissar,"

They fanned out in pairs, some of the wounded heretics attempted to crawl away. Their attempts were cut short by a burst of hotshot lasbolts.

Regium walked towards the ammunition stockpile, stack after stack of crates full of ammunition lined along one side of the base. A beep from his Omnishield helm's short ranged auger alerted him to movement.

The Scion took off at a slight sprint, his plasma rifle held at his shoulder.

"N-no please! I yield, I-I yield," the heretic jabbered.

He was clutching his side, the desecrated flak armour scorched and where a lasbolt from one of his squad mates punched through the armour. It was useless to beg for mercy, any good Imperial citizen would scorn the very existence of a heretic. The only option was to give them redemption, sending their souls to meet the God-Emperor and stand before him to face judgment.

"Save your pleas for when you stand trial before the God-Emperor." Regium spat, pulling his chain blade from his back.

A quick thrust, a slight depression of the activation trigger and a violent scream later and it was over. The traitor's face now a mess of shredded flesh and smashed bone.

"Look out! Heretic witc-EEEIIAAAH…!"

"Die you trai-ARGH…!"

A pair of screams and burst of lasfire through vox was followed quickly by the flatline on the life signs of two of their number. Regium glanced at their last known location, inside the command bunker. Regium turned from his task of planting the blasting charges on their munitions depot. He looked to Ilyana, she nodded once.

The Commissar raised her hand and pushed the activation rune on her vox-bead. "All Scions converge on the command bunker and prepare to purge the chaos taint!"

The others did not reply, only following as she instructed.

* * *

Regium leveled his plasma rifle upon the open entrance of the bunker, keeping a heavy metal crate between himself and anything that may strike from the darkness. The other Scions followed suit, taking cover behind anything that appeared to be solid usable covers. Commissar Yana, once again, opted not to take cover at all. The Valhallan stood directly in front of the door rather than off to the side like the others, he supposed that either she was planning to smash the head of whatever dared come out or inspire the others.

It really wasn't necessary, in Regium's mind, for they were well motivated as it stood. Nevertheless, the contemptuous gesture could work the other way around and demoralize the enemy who now realized the world of pain they were in for.

Well, it didn't hurt up till the point he was blinded by a flash of bright purple light and the roof of the bunker exploded into a blossom of debris and heat.

Regium, thrown off his feet by the blast, felt the cold embrace of the ground a few moments later. His head swam as his senses struggled to recover from the shock of the explosion.

In a disoriented haze, the Scion struggled to lean himself up, his body screaming in protest when a wave of nausea made him double over when he grabbed for his plasma gun that had fallen a scant meter away.

His heart raced, stomach heaving and his breaths came in short and ragged. He knew what he was feeling, the disgusting sensation that came with the presence of the warp.

His Auspex enhanced visor's edges were tinged with static, the machine spirit had been displeased by whatever had struck him. Still, his helm managed to emit a shrill series of beeps when it detected movement from within the ruins of the bunker.

From the smouldering purple haze, a figure emerged. A feminine frame, garbed in robes of purple and gold, that left her sides and midriff bare save for a thin strip of fabric that ran over her navel and chest. The robe bore the thrice damned icon of the eye of terror upon her lower midsection, the sight of which triggering a violent heat in the depths of his soul.

She may have been considered beautiful once, now however, her skin was pale, bearing a purple tinge and her black painted lips parting in a smile revealing a set of razor sharp teeth in the shape of arrowheads. Her long hair had mutated into writing tentacle-like growths, some ending in eyes, others in extra mouths that smiled, babbled or stuck their long tongues out to lick their lips.

She fixed her dark purple haze upon Regium, the only Scion to have found his feet while the others were still reeling.

"Oh! You're standing already, how delightful!" The sorceress cheered.

"You disgusting corpse loving loyalists! As I spill your blood, I'll empower Khorne! When I tear apart your minds and take what you know, I'll empower Tzeench! After I leave your limbless corpses to fester, I'll empower Nurgle!"

Her eyes fell upon Regium, her expression changing to that which he could not decipher the meaning of. "You, however…little Scion, when I take you to my bedchamber and peel the skin off your flesh, I'll empower Slaneesh."

Regium didn't dignify the chaos sorceress with a response, instead letting his weapon do the talking. A flurry of blue bolts struck the woman's form, each with the power to penetrate multiple bodies or even power armour.

With a wave of her hand, the woman seemed to summon a wave of purple energy, breaking the hastily fired plasma bolts in midair. This shocked Regium for a moment, she had dismissed those superheated bolts of gas as if they were mere insects.

Steeling his will, the Scion was about to charge when bolts of searing light struck the barrier. The other Scions had come to, firing to the traitor from all angles.

Taking heart in the fact that the traitor now had to hold up both hands in an effort to keep her shield from shattering. He added to the barrage, setting his plasma gun's overcharge and depressing the trigger.

She hissed in anger, releasing a wave of chaotic energy with a harsh swing of her arm. Like a blast from a Volcano cannon, the energy tore open the ground it struck in a haze of purple smog and falling debris. Regium did not need to check his Slate Monitron to know that yet more of his fellow Scions had fallen.

The Scion took aim, whispering the litany of destruction and preservation to ease the weapon's stressed machine spirit. The weapon's coils turned from a bright blue to a gleaming white the longer he held the trigger down. Steam hissed from its casing when the heat vaporized the very moisture in the air around him.

A moment later, the bolts of coherent light finally broke the shield around the sorceress with a deafening crash. Like glass, the protective barrier shattered. With its demise, Regium released the overcharged ball of plasma and watched it impact on her form in an expanding mist of blue plasma discharge, black soot and red blood vapour. Her screams of fury turned to that of agony in that moment, that did not bode well. Before anyone could close in and end her treacherous, unworthy life, the woman threw her hand down and summoned a thick fog from her palm.

She was still living, though he could not see her through the fog. Her pained moans and ragged pants still echoed around him. The las-fire of his brethren was also silenced. Regium guessed that they were faring no better.

For some time Regium kept his Plasma gun raised, slowly sweeping it side to side.

A flash of purple suddenly lit up the atmosphere with an eerie glow, punctuated by grunts and screams. This was followed by another flash and another, each death followed by another flatline of his Slate Monitron.

Commissar Yana's voice came in over his helm's vox network. "Scions, status!"

Regium released a hand from the plasma gun's grip, head still on a swivel even when he pressed down on the side of his helm to hit the activation rune on his vox.

"The foe is striking at us from the fog. I will attempt to engage-"

"That hurt, corpse lover."

The low, husky voice called from right over the Scion's shoulder. He couldn't react fast enough to bring his weapon to bear before he was sent sprawling through the thick fog by some unseen force. He slammed into one of the rock Crete walls with enough force to force the air from his lungs.

Struggling to regain his balance, Regium hissed in pain and brushed his side. His fingers found shattered impalas. An angry gash had shattered his armour, tearing apart material strong enough to shrug off autogun bullets and lasbolts almost entirely. The open wound stung when he touched it, torn flesh bleeding. He could only thank the Emperor that this place was free from the pestilence of the Nurglite plagues that had touched the frontier trenches.

Gritting his teeth, his bloodstained fingers once again gripped his weapon and brought it to eye level, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through the new wound.

A crack of a whip snapped through the air. Like lightning, a pink line of flesh wrapped around his right forearm. Omnispec lenses snapped in the direction in which the tentacles extended into the mist. The tentacles were the color of raw pink flesh, ending in serrated hooked blades that dug deep into his gauntlet and arm. Somehow, each of these small hooks that found his arm stung far more than the large open wound at his side.

A strong tug from the warp-flesh dragged his feet nearly a meter forward across the ground. Yet he remained upright, feet planted steadfast in the dirt. The hooks dragged and tore at his arm, forcing him to stiffen his cries of pain.

Regium tried pulling the trigger at the source of the tentacles. His weapon fired all of two shots before the bright blue could be dimmed to a dull copper. The hydrogen cell had been depleted.

Regium's other arm released his plasma gun, hanging it on his shoulder with the sling. He reached forward and gripped the tentacles. With a strained grunt of effort, Regium heaved.

A cry of alarm followed the sorceress when she was reigned in like a fish. She landed on the black earth in front of him, stunned.

She looked up, pink eyes wide with shock at the resilience. Her right arm was obliterated from Regium's earlier plasma shot, burns covered the area. However, what had once been a human arm was replaced with a mass of writhing tentacles that still clung to the Scion's arm.

He tasted bile as he witnessed what she had done. Only death could redeem one that has fallen so far. To trade the perfection of humanity voluntarily for some chaos-ridden mass of filth!

He wasted no time. Descending on her with his chainblade drawn. She tried to keep him at bay, swinging desperately with her other arm. Trying to keep the enraged Scion at bay, Warp lightning crackling at her fingertips.

The hand grabbed Regium's respmask, Tempestus efficiency gave in to hate and righteous fury as he went for her neck. "Die heretic!"

Tentacled appendages whipped at his a body, scratching and chipping his armour and slicing at unarmored portions. They did little to slow him. The sorceress was knocked off her feet, having no time to recover as he grabbed her neck and threw her against the rockcrete wall.

His free hand closed around the traitor's neck, tightening his grip and pushing her against the wall and pinning most of her tentacles in place. The chainblade roaring in his other hand quickly coming down on her midsection.

"T-That… Look...A-hah!" she gurgled, her struggling coming to a sudden end as her eyes rolled up.

Unbeknownst to the Scion, Her long legs had wrapped around his waist, womanhood now leaking with slightly viscous fluid that gushed down her legs and soaked his fatigues and armour.

"Get off me, scum!" Regium cried as he struggled himself out of the embrace.

Tearing away his helm and respmask off his head, he slammed his forehead into hers, stunning her for a moment while his other hand found her throat. He pushed her against the wall he had been thrown against earlier, pinning her down and quickly following up with his chainblade into her gut.

"T-Those eyes … such hate, s-such passion! A-hah!" She gurgled. "You…could have made a worthy devotee to my gods, if you weren't so blind to that false king."

"I guess I missed their call," Regium replied casually.

Twisting his face into a grimace. He pushed the weapon through the remaining human arm that she tried to use in vain to stop him. He ripped through it, bone and all.

The witch screamed, Imperial metal teeth cutting into her flesh and tearing her entails asunder with each revolution. Her screams of pain were replaced with… something else.

Her choked coughing and gurgles morphed into ragged moans and grunts. She seemed oblivious or willfully ignorant of her own demise. Tentacled hair reached out toward the Tempestus Scion's exposed face, extra lips kissing, biting and licking at his features.

Her lust was lost to him, more so because he was unaware of what lust was than any sort of willful ignorance. Militarum Tempestus Scion training did not encompass the intricacies of love nor the fine line that separated it from the decadence that is lust.

"O-Oha-mmhn!… I-I'm going to-!" the Chaos sorceress screamed.

Regium merely scowled, ignoring her maddened rambling and coughs along with the hot, clear liquid that sprayed onto his midsection and stained his grey fatigues. He did not go for the coup de grace; this heretic did not deserve that kind of honor. Eventually, only when her grip slackened and struggles ceased did he release her now cooling corpse from his grasp.

With her death, the fog slowly cleared to reveal a thoroughly ruined base. Three other Scions remained, along with Commissar Yana who sported a few scrapes herself from the battle. All around them lay what remained of the cultists slain earlier and the other Scions, some torn apart. Others seemed to be on the ground; if not for their bloody wounds one might even assume they were asleep.

"приехать. Come. There is the Emperor's work to do," Commissar Yana ordered, turning towards their abandoned task of setting charges.

The other Scions responded immediately. Hurrying along as best they could, some limping from their injuries. Regium however, took a moment longer. He knelt down and retrieved a Hotshot Laspistol from the bisected Scion closest to him and went to each corpse.

One by one, he removed the respmask arrays from the fallen Stormtroopers and pressed the Laspistol to their foreheads. Muttering a quick prayer of absolution before closing their staring eyes and pulling the trigger

It took barely a minute, yet, Regium knew that if he was caught it would be a full day's worth of electro lashing for his inefficiency. Still, how could he? How could he leave their bodies and souls to become more slaves of the foul warp spawn like the many he has already slain?

His task done, he turned back to find Commissar Yana staring back at him. He froze in his tracks, contemplating the very real possibility that she may end him now.

The woman raised her unarmored hand, slender, leather clad fingers brushing away a stray love of pale blonde hair over her ear before pulling away her rebreather for a moment.

Relief filled the Scion's heart when thin, pink lips parted to simply smile at him. She replaced her mask and beckoned him to return with a jerk of her head. He needed no further instruction.

* * *

The towering spire of black earth, mud and debris erupted not an hour later. It took the entire base, every crate of ammunition and explosives every shovel and autogun. Every medic kit and food parcel blown apart and thrown into the air.

The half squad ran through another rain soaked trench, boots pounding against half-rusted metal floor plates and rotting wooden frames. Their gear rattled and Carapace armor against them as they ran. The acidic rain had begun to fall once more, a hail of lime green pelting them.

Yet stopping or slowing was not an option. They had just alerted the entire front of their presence. The only option was to run, run towards the closest friendly position.

Now and again they encountered an enemy patrol or scout group trying to find out what happened to their base and communications.

They would be cut down in short order by a hail of plasma and Las bolts.

The run eventually drew the familiar sound of siege warfare closer. Thunderous artillery blasts and rattling automatic weapons fire. Sounds of danger, yet where there was fighting, there were allies to continue the fight.

"Call for an extraction!" Commissar Yana voxed in.

"Yes, Commissar," Regium responded.

Letting his plasma gun hang under his arm by its sling, Regium raised his Slate Monitron. Immediately a topographical display of the field, a few taps on the activation runes hailed their transport.

A static tinged voice sounded in from his helmet's vox channel. "Tempestus Regium, stand by. Your transport is in transit. Proceed to rendezvous marked on your Monitron, make haste."

"Acknowledged," Regium replied.

-BBBZZZZZZTTTT-

The welcome roar of twin Gatling Cannons in the direction of their evacuation zone raised Regium's spirits. Up ahead, a Taurox Prime stood halted at the trench. Bursts of fire from its twin gatling turret illuminating the direction of its fire in a wrathful storm of bright tracer. A horde of maddened cultists reduced to chunks of flesh, torn limbs and strays of blood.

The side hatch of the Taurox hissed open, hull mounted Hotshot Volley gun mounted at its side silenced by the machine spirit to allow them entry. One of his squad mates mounted first, Regium took a knee and raised his Plasma gun, firing into whatever followers of chaos dared try and stop them.

All around him autogun shells landed into the ground or bounced off the side of the Taurox Prime's side. The enemy's primitive weapons managed to hit him a couple of times but failed to penetrate his thick carapace armor.

Commissar Yana reached out to him once the others had boarded. "Regium!"

He took her offered hand, letting her pull him up onto the considerable height of the vehicle's stairway.

The rushing roar of a rocket drew his attention behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Regium's eyes widened beneath his respmask's goggles. One of the cultists had just used whatever sense was left in him and found a rocket launcher instead of firing wildly with lasguns and stubbers.

 **"MOVE!"** He yelled.

Within a split second, the scion pushed his Commissar into the vehicle and let the hydraulic door close. His body hitting the muddy ground a moment later. The driver of the Taurox obeyed the warning immediately and slammed the reverse gear.

* * *

A deafening crack, a moment of weightlessness followed quickly by a wave of sudden, intense heat and pain. It felt like he was being flayed alive whilst being beaten to death by power maul. His ears rang, muffled thuds were all he could distinguish, whatever voices and sounds became unrecognizable to him. He only could hear his own heartbeat: slow, labored and heavy.

The voices became clearer now, He heard Commissar Ilyana's voice through his Vox system. He forced himself up with his elbows and looked down at himself. His body looked had been mauled by a rabid grox and a Catachan ripper.

The diminutive cuts from the sorceress before had been torn and opened by the shockwave. His fatigues and temperature suit were burned almost completely off. He bled in some places where no doubt metal fragments had ripped through his flesh, in others small holes in his uniform and armor left no blood, only smoking holes and glowing rings where the red hot shards had penetrated the carapace plate.

Half his vision tinged red, and his eye stung. Blood had got into his left eye, or that eye had been destroyed by a shard, he didn't bother checking.

"Regium! Respond, Regium!" It was Commissar Yana's voice again, her voice coming garbled through his helmet's shattered vox system.

"C-commissar, I-" His response was cut off by a violent coughing fit that brought blood from within.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the retreating form of the Taurox Prime. They had left him behind, good. As it was he was nothing but a hindrance to the squad. If they returned to collect him then they would be an easy target for the already emplaced Rocket launcher that had fired.

As the coughing abated and the blood seemed to cease bubbling from his throat, Regium's vox went dead with a chorus of static, it's simple machine spirit no longer able to endure the damage it had sustained and keep functioning.

He took a glance at the cracked view-screen of his Slate Monitron, at least the damage was only cosmetic.

 _+Internal damage+_

 _+Organs ruptured+_

 _+Seek Medicae immediately+_

 _+Endure, the Emperor protects+_

Endure, he would do so. If these were to be his final moments, he would make the enemies of Emperor of mankind no reprieve, he would show them what a loyal servant of the Imperium looked like.

He reached around to his back, dragging out the holstered plasma pistol strapped to the small of his back. Both his arms were intact enough to be used and the pistol functional, thank the Emperor.

The sounds of combat were silent forward for the moment. All the distant artillery seemed so far away now. In the place of gunfire were voices. Small whispers at first, growing into a chorus in short order. These were the raspy voices of the lost and damned in the nearby trench. He caught the sight of a red helmet marked by the eight pointed star rise out of the parapet then quickly retreat back.

Once, twice, three times.

"Shove off by the Dark Gods!" He heard, finally hearing a voice loud enough for him to clearly understand.

"I'm telling you mate, that corpse lover's still alive," another voice called.

So they thought he was dead, good. He had the element of surprise. For now, he would place the role of a corpse.

Regium waited, splaying his arms out at his sides and his plasma pistol out loosely in his grip.

"So what? Lookit that plasma pistol he's got. Just kill 'em and take it, his lot just destroyed our supplies so we need every gun we got!" the first voice argued.

"Fine! Khorne's blood, I'll get the bloody gun but I get to keep it!" the second voice responded.

A figure scrambled over the sandbags of the trench, crawling towards Regium with a jagged knife in hand.

Closer, the red armored man crawled, mud caking the desecrated flak armor. "Come to me my pretty thing."

The cultist was cautious as he approached; it seemed the Imperial slave had been taken by his wounds. Almost a pity, the Prince of Pleasure would have been pleased if he were able to capture this one alive. Then again, at least Khorne had his pool of blood and Nurgle would bless this blank canvas for his rot. The gods would have use of him yet.

Gnarled hands reached out to the pristine weapon held in the outstretched arm. "Yes… a fine weapon"

"Indeed, traitor," said Regium, standing up like a dead body coming back to life. The cultist froze, the dead man's half smashed helmet was lifted. One red eye lense staring back at him

The plasma pistol was snapped up suddenly.

A shrill, electronic beep and a wash of heat.

Then a microscopic sun vaporizing his head.

* * *

His companion rose of the trench, blade raised and shouting, "The corpse lover lives! End him! **BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULL FOR THE SK-** "

He made himself an easy target, such a large target profile. Yelling at that, how tactically inept. Almost begging for the two plasma bolts that tore his torso asunder. Still, some of the cultist heeded his call, running headlong at the downed Scion with blades raised. Regium sighed, bringing the Plasma pistol down towards the heretics that charged him. More joined them, it seemed that he was lying on his back before a full scale charge.

 **"Oh Emperor, Master of Mankind, hear my prayer."**

He chanted, firing off another shot. No more need for silent tactical executions of stratagem, for him, the end was coming.

 **"Before the swollen gaze of the Dark Eye, I stand.**

 **They seek to tear my flesh and take my life.**

 **It matters not.**

 **In my sacrifice, the Dark Gods shall know defeat.**

 **For even in Death, shall we be triumphant in His name"**

They were close now, within earshot. They will hear his voice, for the first and last time.

 **"Take heed, ye who have surrendered to the Darkness!**

 **I am unbowed and unbroken!**

 **For where there is darkness, His light shall shine!**

 **And your darkness shall retreat!"**

Reaching his back, the scion retrieved all the remaining canisters of Hydrogen fuel and unclasped his grenade bandolier, which remained full. His other hand still firing on the group of rushing traitors, screaming their bloody curses and praises to their malicious gods. He couldn't really aim anymore, impaired by blood loss and shock.

 **"We who have bled shall be vindicated!**

 **We who have fallen shall be exalted!**

 **We who have sacrificed shall be rewarded!**

 **We who have died avenged!"**

He closed his eyes for but a second. A final moment of silence before his end.

 **"AVE EMPEROR! AVE IMPERIUM!"**

"No."

A voice answered. Not any accent of high gothic he had heard before. There were no errors in the actual words; they just seemed to reverberate for a moment in this mind before the meanings behind them got to him.

The grenade pins held in his fingers were stopped. He saw a hand clad in some kind of white glove wrapped around his hand, holding keeping the pin he was about to pull in place.

Glass, he heard the sound of glass being struck before a flurry of thin blue lights streaked past his visions. He followed their trails, craning his neck to find the wave of cultists reduced to a mound of corpses, blood polling beneath them flowing from miniscule holes that had perforated them.

"Who...why?" He choked, barely able to speak without a spout of blood rushing up his throat. "By the Emperor, what is going on?"

"Be silent and let us play our part," the figure replied.

"I don't need anyone to kill heretics for me," Regium insisted despite his injuries. Taking a better look at his savior looming over him, he found himself staring at a woman more beautiful than anyone, or anything for that matter, he had ever seen. Her clothes were elegant, crafted from fine materials and adorned with embellishments that would have made a Voystrian green with envy. Her body was slim but sturdy; her face….he had no word for it: it was perfect in every way possible, yet wrong many aspects.

"Always so stubborn, aren't you?" the female warrior sighed. Her hair, long and flowing, cascading over her back like a waterfall. Different from Commissar Yana's rough and ready long hair. Obsidian locks tied into a braid that hung over him.

Regium laid on his back, feeling something putting pressure on his more grievously bleeding wounds. For a moment, the pain seemed to be alleviated. "Who are you?" he asked finally.

A pair eyes, large and glowing like burning embers, stared down at the wounded Scion. Expressions he couldn't read on her flawless visage. Features that included a pair of pointed ears. He would have been in complete shock by her presence had the massive blood loss not left him in such state in the first place.

Crimson blood stained her white and dark blue robes and armor. The blood of those she had slain and his own blood as she tried to save him. He had lost too much of it, too weak to even respond to the fact that he was being held in the arms of an Eldar witch. His senses were numbing and his every action, blinking and breathing included, took considerable efforts.

Only the Emperor knew how badly he wanted to punch her in her perfect teeth. Putting the arrogant xenos down a notch was the desire, perhaps duty, of every Imperial Guardsman. The Eldar were an arrogant race who saw humanity as a doomed race and themselves humanity's only salvation. Over the years, the aliens had come to assist the forces of the Imperium times and times again, with unchanged haughty attitudes, always coming out largely unharmed while their human allies got badly mauled. Despite the successes of these occasions, their help was universally unwelcomed: what kind of galactic empire that could not defend its own realm from outside invaders and traitors within?

Regium slacked as his body became less and less responsive. Despite the Eldar's intervention, the wound continued to take a toll on him.

"You do not have my permission to die!" She screamed. As a Tempestus Scion, Regium was not afraid of death, for therein lied the Emperor's protection, but that did not mean he was willing to waste his life so meaninglessly, either. However, this Eldar woman, she sounded so desperate, as if his survival meant something to her. Strange. "Hang in there. Your thread cannot end here."

"I am….not so sure," Regium said weakly.

Her voice grew more distant now. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision as he felt other hands on him, dragging him away slowly. The black crust the plane called soil parted, Eldar with shuriken projectiles darted over his head. Human voices calling for blood and alien gibberish, all seemly becoming distant.

For the moment, this Scion's world faded to black.


End file.
